I Call Your Name - Again
by KensiBlonde
Summary: Here's your M-rated, S&D fans. Picks up right where Season 3's 'I Call Your Name' leaves off. Enjoy!


Sam Malone had never been more infuriated with a woman. Correction - he had never been more infuriated with Diane. Which meant he had never been more infuriated with anything, period.

He let out a primal scream of frustration and caught himself with one hand on his desk before he toppled over.

He would never forget that look on her face as she practically danced out of the room. "Oops!" she'd mocked, fluttering her hand up to her mouth, her blue eyes sparkling and brimming with, "Gotcha!"

Oh, yes, she had gotten him all right - suckered him into thinking she wanted him – and then calling out Frasier's name instead of his.

Now he was going to get her.

He took several deep breaths and steadied himself. Then he patted his hair down and headed back into the bar as if nothing had happened.

The entire bar had come to a dead stop. He realized everyone in the place was staring at him. He gave his shoulders a little shake, loosened his hips, and tried to move casually behind the counter.

He began violently dicing lemons - what he usually did when he wanted to strangle Diane.

"Uh, Sammy, you all right?" Norm was the first to venture.

"Sure. Why do you ask?"

"Uhh, no reason," Norm shrugged. "Just sounded like someone was murdering you in there, that's all."

"Nah. Just had the radio on. These kids and their newfangled music."

Norm and Cliff exchanged knowing looks and said nothing more about it.

Sam's deep-set eyes cast furtively around the bar. He spotted Diane in the corner taking an order. For the rest of the evening, he was as polite as a human being could be to her. But behind the cool facade, his mind was reeling.

After all of the patrons - even Norm - had left, he waited until Diane was in the poolroom and then told Coach and Carla to leave early. They didn't need to be told twice.

He then palmed a key from behind the register and walked to the door and locked it. He stuffed the key in his pocket.

Diane came out of the back room with a heavy tray of half-empty glasses. He noticed her eyes dart nervously around the empty bar.

"Where is everyone?"

"Oh, Carla had some emergency with her kids so I told them to go home."

"Oka-ay," she said.

He savored the slight edge of anxiety in her voice.

"Diane, could you sweep the back room?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The poolroom." Sam slowed down his directive as if he were speaking to a toddler. "Could - you - sweep - IT?"

Sam had never asked Diane to do the ultra-menial tasks like sweeping the floors or taking out the garbage or - heaven forbid - cleaning the bathrooms. That always fell to him, Coach, or occasionally Carla. But not to Diane – never to Diane.

Her eyes widened at the unfamiliar and unwelcome order.

"Um, sure …" she replied, obviously none too happy.

"Broom's in the closet," he said, wiping down the counter and not making eye contact.

"Sam… this isn't … about what happened earlier, is it?"

"Nope. You work for me. I need the back room swept. You're going to sweep it."

He kept wiping the counters. God, he was loving this.

He heard Diane clumsily rummaging around in the closet and caught a glimpse of her huffing her way into the back room with broom in hand.

He waited a few minutes and then followed her.

"Make sure you get the corners," he said.

She stopped, turned, and glared at him in that aggravatingly superior way she had.

"Sam - I - I'm sorry about earlier. It's just that you were being so…"

"Get the corners, Diane!" he barked, and then he turned and left.

Back in the bar, Sam was smiling so hard he thought his face might crack.

He watched as she came back out with a pan full of glass shards and dust bunnies the size of golf balls and dumped them in the garbage.

"There!" she snapped. "Now can I leave?"

"Sure."

She flounced off to get her coat and made a grab for the door.

"Sam - the door is locked."

Sam barely looked up from where he was restocking cases of beer. "Is it?"

"Yes!"

"Ugh!" Sam threw up his hands and made a big and not-too-convincing show of being irritated. "Must have been Coach. He does that sometimes with an old key. We'll have to wait until he gets home and call him to come back."

"But Sam! How long will that take?"

"Oh, let's see, Coach's house is about 20 minutes from here … so, at least two hours. This is Coach we're talking about."

"What?! Can't you pick the lock or something?"

"What do I look like, a cat burglar? We'll just have to wait for Coach."

"But Frasier might get worried!"

"So call him."

Sam watched her stomp back down the steps and grab the phone on the other side of the bar. She pounded in the numbers.

"Frasier? Darling, it's me. I'm going to be a bit late tonight. I'm - I'm stuck in the bar. I need to wait for Coach to come let me out …" She turned her face away and cupped her hand around the receiver. "No, it's just me. Sam went home."

Sam heard it. He grinned to himself.

"Okay, I'll see you later, dear heart."

Dear heart? Sam almost retched.

Diane practically slammed down the phone and cast an apprehensive glance his way. He pretended to be working.

"Sam - let's just get this out in the open. I'm sorry for what I did. I know you must be angry about it."

"I don't even know what you're babbling about, Diane."

"How I kissed you and called out Frasier. It was just a little joke. Getting back at you for gloating so badly."

"Yeah, that was pretty funny. Bet you loved that."

"Come on. Where's your sense of humor?"

Sam's restocking got louder and louder as he began to shove crates into the wall. Diane tentatively ventured around the bar and eventually he could see her bare legs in his side vision.

"Sam, I'm sorry. Is there something I can do to make it up to you?"

He stood, grabbed a rag, and vigorously began slapping his palms with it.

"Yeah, I guess there is." He kept his eyes on the rag. "You could try that again."

"I - I could - what?"

He stopped slapping and made direct eye contact.

"Try that AGAIN."

"Sam, I don't –"

He just stared at her.

"Um, Sam. I'm with Frasier. I can't kiss another man."

"That didn't seem to bother you this afternoon."

She broke eye contact. He had a point there.

"Well, I don't understand. You want me to kiss you? And then you'll forgive me?"

"No, you're not going to _just_ kiss me. You're going to say the right name this time."

She slowly worked her eyes back to his - blinking up at him from under her long lashes. He knew that look. She wanted it.

"Sam, you locked the door, didn't you?" she asked, quietly.

He refused to answer. He took a step closer to her and leaned one arm languidly against the bar.

"I've got all night, Diane. Do you? Bet ol' dear heart is getting angsty."

Diane's mouth twisted slightly. "All right, if I do this … you are never EVER going to tell Frasier, am I right?"

"Cross my heart," Sam said, doing so.

"So … you want me to…"

He suddenly sprang a hand around her neck and yanked her to him.

"Shut up, Diane."

In a flash, he had his lips against hers. He took his other arm off the bar, wrapped it around her waist and pulled her firm against his body - and his rock hard erection. He knew she could feel it and, frankly, he didn't care.

Just as he knew would happen, when he began boldly swirling his tongue around hers, he felt her eagerly returning his probings. Her body went soft against his and he was able to almost lift her off her feet.

He pulled his lips away and moved his mouth down to her neck. He sucked and kissed a trail all along her neckline, and he felt her collapse heavier into his arms.

Her breathing was coming strong now and he knew all of the warning signs that she was about to start making deeply satisfied sighs – almost little sobs - which she did.

He felt her long fingers dig tightly into his hair, tugging it, and forcefully guiding his mouth back to hers. He moved one hand to the side of her face, and his thumb began to trace the line of her lower lip as their tongues continued to entwine perfectly with one another.

Good god, no one could kiss like Diane Chambers.

He went back down for the tender spot below her jawline that he knew she loved so well, and he felt her head roll easily to the side - her breathing was coming in shallow waves.

He kissed his way back up to her ear, and then murmured, "What do you say?"

Diane was completely disoriented and barely had any idea where she was. She just knew she didn't want this feeling to ever end. She turned her mouth hungrily to Sam's again but he teasingly pulled back an inch.

"What do you say?" he asked in a low, firm tone.

"Sam," she breathed.

"Look at me." He pressed his nose up against hers, boring into her eyes with his. "Say it again."

"Oh god, Sam," she sighed, her mouth open against his, her fingers stroking the back of his neck. "I've missed you so much."

Elation shot through Sam like a bullet. This was the moment he'd waited for - and now his plan was set in motion. He had her in the palm of his hand - and he was going to laugh in her face and tell her to go home to the good doctor.

But he couldn't. His blood was pumping through his veins like a speeding train and his erection was so brick hard against his thighs he thought he might explode.

He no longer had any control whatever – he was half-mad with desire - and the next thing he knew, he was hiking up her skirt and jerking down her panties. He forcefully picked her up and slammed her rear on the bar.

Before he even had any awareness of what was happening, he was dragging his mouth back down her long, succulent neck, to her chest, and then into the slit of her pink top. One hand was furiously working the buttons. Her bra was mere millimeters from his mouth when he heard her mumbling something.

There was a rushing sound in his ears that prevented him from hearing it for a moment - and then he did. Oh, goddamn her.

"Sam, Sam," she was pleading. "I can't - "

He ignored her and pushed her bra aside with his nose and fingers, and then pointedly began tracing circles around her hard rosy nipple with his tongue. Then he sucked it fully into his mouth and involuntarily groaned – oh, good lord, how he remembered these flawless nipples.

She started lightly banging on his shoulder - pushing him back. He felt it, but he dismissed it because, at the same time, her legs were snaking around his backside and clutching him tighter to her.

He knew her left nipple was more sensitive than the right, and he began working on it earnestly, pinching it lightly it between his thumb and forefinger while sucking on it and grazing his teeth delicately along the little ridges. He waited for her to moan and loll her head back like she always did when he teased her nipple - and this time was no exception.

Only now he felt her fingers in his mouth, and her hand was clenching around his lower jaw - and she was shoving his mouth away.

"Sam – stop," she almost cried. "I can't - I can't cheat on Frasier."

"You're not cheating on him," he murmured, bringing his mouth back to hers and piercing her with a direct stare. "You've been cheating on _me_."

For a moment, their mouths hung open as if they would inhale each other - then he began plucking gently on her lower lip with teeth as he carefully watched her expression, waiting for her to make a decision.

Her eyes slowly glazed over and flickered closed, and her head tilted back with a deep exhale. He took that as a green light and slid one hand down her stomach and between her thighs. He parted her slick, swollen lips with his fingers and began masterfully massaging exactly where and how he knew she liked it.

Her back arched upwards and soon she was panting. He heard a groan escape from deep within her body - then she suddenly snapped her head back up, hooked one thumb inside of his cheek, and breathed against his mouth, "Take me in the office. Please god. I can't stand it."

That was all he needed. He gathered her up into his arms and practically ran with her into his office, kicking the door aside as he did so.

That night, he heard her call out his name many, many times. He had never heard such a soul-piercingly sweet sound in his life.

When they were done, they each got into their separate cars, saying nothing to each other, and went back to their respective homes.

They never spoke of it again - but neither one of them ever, ever forgot it.


End file.
